A Million Words
by Ri P Raven
Summary: Ten years after beating the Labyrinth, Sarah invites Jareth to a special event. Will the visit end the way Jareth hopes, or will Hoggle get bogged?
1. Down in the Underground

**Author's Note:** This is a short story that interrupted my regularly scheduled writing plan.

Disclaimer: Labyrinth and all of its characters are owned by Jim Henson, et al. The only thing I own is my imagination.

"One picture is worth ten thousand words." - Chinese proverb

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Jareth closed the door to his study with a grateful sigh. The Labyrinth Challenge was over; the Runner hadn't even made it past the hedge maze before her thirteen hours had run out. The goblins, who always gleefully anticipated another Battle of the Goblin City every time a new Labyrinth Challenge began, had gone home to their ramshackle houses in the city disappointed and grumbling. The brownies had come out of hiding and begun the vigorous cleaning of the castle required after the horde had been present for any length of time.

Jareth had just come from presenting the Wished-Away to her new family; the childless Fae couple had been overjoyed to receive her. A female Wished-Away was rare, and highly prized - female Fae who had once been human didn't suffer the sorrow of infertility that afflicted most females born as Fae. The infant, now being fed Fae food, would complete her transformation in a few days.

Jareth kicked off his heeled black boots, and buried his toes in the thick, soft cream carpet that covered most of the stone floor of his study. The light of the setting sun entered the room through the large window opposite the door, making the wood-panelled walls glow golden. He flicked his hand at the massive stone fireplace that dominated the right side of the room and a crackling fire appeared in the grate. He shrugged off his jewel encrusted, midnight blue cape and left it in a pool of fabric and gleaming gems next to his boots while he crossed to the massive mahogany desk.

He sank into the blissful embrace of his elaborately carved chair. Upholstered with plump cushions of jade green velvet, the chair had been crafted exactly to his measure. After thirteen hours on the hard, unyielding stone of his throne - multiple cushions having been shredded by the horde during multiple Challenges, he'd finally conceded defeat on making it more comfortable - sitting in his chair felt wonderful. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to release the tension of the day.

He froze mid-stretch when his eyes landed on the Aboveground-style envelope perfectly centered on his desk. Stacks of paperwork, correspondence, ledgers, and books lined the three outside edges of his desk, but he always kept the center clear for whatever he was currently working on. His desk had been clear before he left his study to answer the Summons; therefore, someone had invaded his sanctum during the last thirteen hours. His eyes flashed with anger.

"Well, well," he smirked maliciously, picking up the envelope. "Who has earned themselves a trip to the bog, then?" Turning the envelope over - whoever had placed it had accidentally done so upside down, no doubt because they were rightfully terrified to be in his private space, and were acting in haste - he discovered his name written across the face of the envelope in flowing cursive.

His upswept eyebrows raised further in surprise. Not even his family addressed him in missives by only his name. His anger forgotten and his curiosity inflamed, he slit the envelope open with a knife he kept on his desk and pulled out the card inside. An insert fell from the card and landed face down on the desk. Flipping it over, he was confronted with a circular image of himself at his most intimidating: in his black armor, hands on his hips, a stern expression on his face. The painting was exquisite and captured him perfectly. It was flanked by two other images - one of them appeared to be an equally accurate sculpture of Wise Man and his Birdhat, and the other was a replica of a dress on a dress form - a dress that he could never, no matter how hard he tried, forget.

He ran one gloved finger over the image of the dress. "Sarah," he whispered, his heart aching, the old sorrow settling in his stomach. It had been ten years since he'd last seen her, ten years since their confrontation, ten years since she had revoked his power over her. Ten years of being unable to see her in his crystals, ten years of being unable to visit her Aboveground, ten years of being banned from her dreams.

His eyes flicked to the top of the insert. _Labyrinth: A Celebration of the Art of Sarah Williams,_ it proclaimed in metallic silver print. Underneath the central images, the same print provided a date for a _Gallery Opening Reception_. Heart pounding, he hastily opened the accompanying card, and quickly read the note, penned in the same flowing cursive as his name.

 _I really wish you'd come. I need you. Love, Sarah_

"Your right words indeed," Jareth chuckled, as the warmth of a nearly unbearable hope flooded his being. He read the note again, slowly, savoring her words. _I really wish you'd come,_ she had written, inviting him. _I_ _need you,_ she had stated, granting him the power to visit her Aboveground. _Love, Sarah,_ she had declared.

 _Did she mean it?_ he wondered, his brow furrowing. Or was it simply an Aboveground convention to sign notes in this manner? He tried to squash the hope swelling in his chest; after all, she'd rejected him before. He'd learned to live with the pain of his shattered heart; he couldn't bear a repeat performance.

He pulled off his gloves and ran the fingers of his right hand across her words, trying to gauge what Sarah had felt when she had put her pen to paper. First, he had to wade through the emotions of the person who had delivered the missive; _Hogbrain_ , Jareth identified the intruder, as he mentally tasted the dwarf's fear. Maybe he wouldn't bog the wretched dwarf for invading his space after all.

He had expected the messenger to be Sir Didymus, since the knight was currently the Lord Martial of the Goblin Army and had unrestricted access to the castle grounds. The duty Didymus would have felt delivering Sarah's missive would be easier to move past than Hogwart's terror. He probed deeper, searching for a whisper of emotion that belonged to Sarah. The traces were faint, meaning that she had written the invitation some time ago. Jareth felt fading uncertainty and hope, veined with another emotion too diminished for him to read.

He looked back at the insert. She remembered him in enough detail to paint a perfect portrait. That was cause for hope, wasn't it? He would hope, and he would go, and if it didn't go well, he'd bog the horrible dwarf permanently. He grinned at the mental image of Hoghead frantically scrubbing away bog muck to no avail.


	2. What No One Knew

**Author's Note:**

Púca is the Irish Gaelic for goblin. Rí is the Irish Gaelic for king. They are pronounced Pookah and Reeh.

I am splitting up the gallery show into separate chapters (otherwise this chapter would be very, very long).

If I had any bit of artistic talent, I would link you to a deviantart account. Alas, I have only words.

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Jareth watched the city through the window of his limousine. He had donned an already established human persona: Jared Púcarí, reclusive multimillionaire and humanitarian, who had founded multiple charities that provided homes and families for orphaned children, domestically in the United States and abroad. He'd altered his human glamour a little since his last visit Aboveground, during which he'd been constantly mistaken for a wildly - justifiably, in his opinion - famous musician. Although his glamour now looked a little less like his real self, he did not fear that Sarah would not recognize him. As the Champion of the Labyrinth, she would be unaffected by his glamour. Humans with the power of Sight and humans who truly believed in the Fae - mostly children - might get a brief glimpse of his true visage, but all others would see him as he wished to be seen.

The limo pulled up to the entrance of the brightly lit gallery. Jareth's gloved hands fidgeted with his crystal-topped scepter - which most humans saw as the affectation of a worldly man, an unnecessary cane - while he waited impatiently for his chauffeur to circle the vehicle and release him from his iron prison. The gallery had two doors: an entrance and an exit. Through the windows flanking the exit, Jareth could see a few people in formal dress talking, laughing, and drinking. The windows flanking the entrance, however, were strangely devoid of people. Finally, his chauffeur opened the door, and Jareth gratefully exited the car.

Upon entering the building, Jareth was greeted by a young woman stationed at a podium set to the right of the entrance. She was wearing a long, sleeveless, slinky black cocktail dress with low black heels, and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up into a chignon. She smiled at him in welcome.

"Would you care to sign the guestbook, sir?" she asked politely. Jareth leaned over and signed his assumed name. When he straightened, she glanced at the book and her blue eyes widened in recognition. Although he hadn't used this particular Aboveground persona in eight years, his name was still known to the art establishment as an avid art collector. She gestured toward a display on the left side of the small entrance foyer. "If you would wait there, Mr. Púcarí, the door attendant will be with you shortly."

As he walked towards the display, he examined his surroundings. The room was a small box of white walls, with an elaborately carved wooden door directly opposite the entrance door and its flanking windows. Stationed in front of this door was another young woman, also wearing a black dress and low black heels. Although the top of her sparkly dress was more modest than the one worn by the guestbook attendant - it had elbow length sleeves and a boat neck - its hemline was shorter, reaching only to the attendant's knees. Her golden blonde hair was also pulled up in a chignon.

The only other item of interest in the room was the table display of several books propped up on stands so the viewer could peruse the covers. _A Child's Guide to Faery Creatures_ , written and illustrated by Sarah Williams. _Faery Tales for Adults,_ written and illustrated by Sarah Williams. _Stories from the Underground. You'll Never Get Out Again. Dangers Untold and Hardships Unnumbered._ In addition to the illustrated books she had written, two children's books featuring her illustrations were displayed. The focal point of the display was a large book bound in red leather. _The_ _Labyrinth,_ proclaimed the cover, _Illustrated by Sarah Williams._

Unwilling to restrain himself, Jareth plucked the book off its stand and opened the cover. He turned the title page, and there, where the copyright and printing information should be, was a paragraph under the title _Illustrator's Note._

"As a child and young adult," he read, "a copy of this book was my most treasured possession. The Labyrinth had a profound impact on my life, and set in motion the chain of events that led me to pursue art as a career. Although I have found several other copies of this book (with slight variations in the story), none of them contain an author attribution. Therefore, I have decided to self-publish this illustrated version of my favorite story. If you have any information pertaining to the authorship of this story, please contact the law office of Williams, Keller, and Macon."

Underneath this paragraph, an address and phone number for the law office was provided, followed by _All illustrations copyright Sarah Williams_ and a printing date, five years prior. Jareth closed the book, lightly caressing the cover with his gloved hand. The book was a revelation; it explained the flood of power that had been entering the Labyrinth - and the Underground as a whole - for the past five years. It explained the recent increase in Wished-Aways and Challenges. Sarah had taken his story and disseminated it to the masses of humanity, increasing their belief in the Underground and the Fae.

Before Jareth could fully process the implications of this revelation, he was approached by the door attendant. He replaced _The Labyrinth_ on its stand and turned to face her.

"The gallery is now available," she told him, "if you're ready to enter?" At his nod, she took five steps to the door and opened it for him.

Jareth stepped into the long corridor and couldn't suppress the bark of laughter that escaped him. Sarah had wallpapered the gallery corridor in the garish green-yellow-orangish red floral pattern wallpaper that had covered the walls of her adolescent bedroom. At the end of the corridor hung curtains exactly like the ones that had hung in her parents' bedroom, the curtains through which he had entered her life. _They might even be those very same curtains,_ he thought, shaking his head ruefully.

The first piece displayed in the wide corridor was a dress on a dress form - the dress Sarah had made to wear when she was playacting his story in a park near her house. She had acted out his story many, many times before actually Summoning him; the constant recitation of it had caught his attention even Underground, and so he had watched her in his owl form for over a year. Jareth closed his eyes as he drowned in memories he'd thought buried and forgotten. He had seen her act out her private play and listened to her conversations with her dog, Merlin. From the branches of her favorite tree, Jareth had read the letters she wrote to a famous actress mother who rarely answered. Day by day, he'd fallen more and more in love with her; her bright spirit and deep belief had called out to the very essence of his being, the part of him a human might refer to as a soul.

He opened his eyes to read the title card. _Dress Rehearsal._ He threw back his head and laughed uproariously at the joke. The tag below the title indicated that the piece was not for sale. He continued down the corridor to look at the other pieces, still smiling at Sarah's humor.

 _Home Run_ \- a painting of Sarah and Merlin running in the rain, almost Impressionist in its execution, for sale. _Wicked Stepmother In A Faery Story_ \- Sarah and her stepmother arguing in the foyer of her childhood home, not for sale. _Lancelot_ \- a painting of a teddy bear discarded on the floor, on loan from the private collection of D. Callahan. _You Want a Story?_ \- Sarah, looking at herself in the mirror, wearing a red and white striped baby's cap, her features twisted into an approximation of a goblin's face, not for sale.

 _Did She Say It?_ \- thirteen goblins stared out of the painting, their eyes alight with anticipation, their facial expressions showing only rapt attention, on loan from the private collection of E. R. Hausern. Jareth's brow furrowed as he studied the painting. The goblins in the painting were members of the squad on duty that night, the squad who had taken Tobias. _How did she know?_ he wondered.

 _The Summons_ \- Sarah holding Toby up in the air, her mouth open as she called out the wrong words, not for sale. The next painting was the one of him from the invitation she had sent. _The Goblin King_ , not for sale. Jareth was a bit disappointed to discover that he could not purchase it; he had wanted to replace his current portrait in the Royal Gallery with Sarah's work. _I've Brought You A Gift_ \- another portrait of him in his black armor, a crystal balanced on his outstretched fingers, not for sale. As he moved on to the next piece - a small sculpture on a white marble plinth - he realized that she had left out the right words for the actual Summons.

"Clever girl," he observed to himself with a sly smile.

 _Don't Defy Me_ \- the sculpture was half snake, half colored scarf, for sale. The snake half appeared to be dyed fabric stretched over wire and coated with rabbit skin glue, a substance traditionally used in preparing canvas for painting; the scarf half was draped off the edge of the plinth. Jareth believed that Sarah had dyed the fabric herself; the two halves appeared to be one seamless whole. _In My Castle_ \- another armored portrait of him, not for sale; it was the final painting in this section of the gallery, positioned in such a way that his outstretched arm and pointing finger indicated the curtains hanging at this end of the corridor.

Jareth inspected the curtains and laughed again at Sarah's cleverness. Although he could not see through the curtains into the next section of the gallery, he **could** see that Sarah had installed a window frame in the space rather than a door. If a heedless gallery patron tried to simply walk through the curtains, they would trip on the low sill and tumble into whatever lay beyond. To get to the next space, the visitor had to climb through the window frame.

"You can't take anything for granted," Jareth reminded himself as he climbed through the window frame into the next corridor. Once there, he was struck completely motionless, transfixed by his new surroundings.


	3. Come On, Feet

**Author's Note:**

When I walked through the gallery space in my head, it didn't seem like more than two or three chapters, but apparently it is. I hope you are at least getting a sense of Sarah's personality, humor, and artistic influences; please let me know how you feel about the walkthrough in reviews.

Thank you so much for all the favs and follows; although I started Third Time Lucky before A Million Words, I should probably count this one as my first story. The encouragement is greatly appreciated!

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Jareth was awestruck.

The painting was so massive that the average gallery patron would have difficulty digesting the entire image and would have to approach the piece in sections. Easily ten feet tall, the canvas stretched to approximately thirty feet wide. The Labyrinth glowed in the light of dawn, his castle rising from its center. The detail was incredible; leaning close to the canvas, Jareth could delineate individual hedges and walls. The majority of the composition must have been painted with an impossibly small brush.

Possessed by a fierce desire, his long strides carried him from his position at the center of the painting to the title card and tag at the dead end - _beginning_ , his mind corrected absently - of the corridor. For sale; he barely noted the seven-figure price as he ripped the tag from the wall. _Mine!_ he exulted inwardly, before finally turning his attention toward the title card. _It's Further Than You Think,_ he read, and grinned triumphantly at the tag underneath, which now marked the piece as sold.

As Jareth tucked the purchase tag into his left glove for safekeeping, his scepter held between his arm and his side, he marveled at the walls of the corridor. Sarah had recreated the walls of the outer section of the Labyrinth. He reached out to touch them; the small stone bricks were uneven under his covered fingers. She had painted them in such a way that they gleamed and sparkled exactly as they should. Looking down the length of the corridor, he noted that twiggy branches and bits of foliage were randomly adhered to the walls. The floor, however, remained the same as the previous corridor: large tiles of grey marble.

Jareth was certain at this point that the gallery was, in actuality, one large space. Sarah had built these corridors so that she could control the timing and presentation of each piece of work. The gallery show itself was its own masterful composition.

He turned around to look at the pieces hanging opposite the massive painting, between the beginning of the corridor and the window frame through which he'd entered. _Turn Back Before It's Too Late_ \- a portrait of him in his black armor, medallion gleaming on his chest, hair tousled by the wind, not for sale. _Time Is Short_ \- a meticulous recreation of his ebony Challenge clock, suspended from the ceiling by invisible wire, the hands frozen at two minutes past the thirteenth hour, on loan from the private collection of M. Frost-Merkley.

 _Such A Pity -_ another portrait of him, standing with the Challenge clock in front of a tree, in the process of vanishing from view. Sarah had used watercolors for this painting - the other paintings had been oils - and the edges of himself and the background blurred together in such a way that it appeared as if the orange-red sky was swallowing him whole. Not for sale.

 _Is there a single painting of me for sale in this entire gallery?_ he grumbled to himself as he walked past the window entrance. He stopped abruptly, and the tiny ember of hope he carried in his heart burst into flame and warmed his chest. _There is not a single painting of me for sale!_ Surely, that fact had **some** meaning, didn't it? He began to try to sort through all the possible connotations of this realization. His scattered thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy wooden door at the entrance of the gallery closing. Recalled to his surroundings, he continued deeper into Sarah's Labyrinth.

 _It Bit Me!_ \- another watercolor, a portrait of one of the pests outside the Labyrinth walls, a tiny fairy with iridescent wings and silver hair, on loan from the Frazetta Art Museum. _Fifty-Seven -_ a life-size sculpture of Hogfoot exterminating one of the fairies, not for sale. A clear, hardened resin erupted from the dwarf's sprayer and encapsulated the fairy's form, keeping her suspended mid-air. Jareth wondered if, somewhere, Sarah kept a sculpture of Hogbreath relieving himself in the pond. Perhaps it was a working fountain? He chuckled cruelly at the mental image. _When - if,_ his mind whispered, wistfully - _I bog him permanently, I'll have one erected as a memorial of sorts._

 _Hoggle -_ a portrait of the dwarf standing in front of the outer wall of the Labyrinth, with white flowers and fairies behind him, not for sale. _The Right Question_ \- a painting of Sarah and **Hoggle** watching as fog swirled out of the half-open, rose-covered Labyrinth doors, on loan from the Museum of Fantasy Art. _Who's She? -_ a small wire, fabric, and glass sculpture of the eye lichen who lived on the Labrinth's walls, for sale. The sculpture appeared to spring from one of the bricks that made up the wall; Jareth examined the piece carefully enough to discover that it actually encompassed a panel of bricks, rather than a single one.

After the lichen, there was a break in the flow of artwork. The walls on either side of the corridor were bare. Sarah had attached tiny, twiggy branches to the walls and strewn large, glittery branches on the floor for the patrons to dodge and step over. The final piece of artwork on the left side of the corridor was a very small painting - no larger than his hand - of a fuzzy blue worm with red eyes, wearing a red scarf. _You Ain't Lookin' Right,_ for sale. Jareth chuckled, amused.

"How many patrons have been delayed here?" Jareth wondered aloud, surveying the apparent dead end. He had instantly seen through the visual illusion Sarah had used to disguise the exit, and walked through the wall opposite the worm into a second, parallel corridor. Looking right, he observed that the corridor disappeared around a sharp corner. Looking left, he saw a framed, hand-printed sign in Sarah's flowing cursive that read, "Never go that way!"

Curiosity piqued, he proceeded down the left-hand corridor. Standing directly in front of the sign, he discovered a narrow corridor, also on the left-hand side, just large enough for a person to traverse if they walked sideways. Jareth entered the hidden passage, somehow certain that he was the first to do so. He sidled around a left-turning corner, making his way into a small room.

His heart stuttered, then pounded heavily as the warmth that had earlier filled his chest flowed into his entire body. Jareth pushed the gloved palm of his right hand into his chest while the left tightened around the crystal that topped his scepter. Staggered, he leaned his weight on it, the affectation no longer unnecessary. He felt as if the shattered pieces of his heart were iron filings that were being drawn into a magnetized central point.

There were no title cards in this secret room, no tags; simply sketch after sketch of his face. Pen and ink, charcoal, colored pencil, drawing pencil, pastel, marker, even crayon; she'd used every medium to replicate his likeness, in every expression, from every angle.

 _I really wish you'd come,_ she had written, inviting him. _I need you,_ she had stated, granting him the power to visit her Aboveground. _Love, Sarah_ , she had declared.

 _And she had meant it._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

In Irish Gaelic, "Goblin King" translated literally would be _rí na bpúcaí (_ special thanks to Honoria Granger for the translation/correction!), with the title coming first. I purposely transposed the terms "king" and "goblin" when crafting Jareth's alias in order to give the name a more "urbane elite" sound and feeling. I'm content to have that interpreted as Italian, especially given Jareth's fashion sensibilities!

This chapter was difficult; I hope I managed to capture the "wandering" feeling of the stone maze nonetheless.

Thank you for the reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story.

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Once Jareth had recovered his equilibrium, he removed the glove from his right hand and circled the room, touching his fingers to sketch after sketch. The majority of them were merely dead paper under his fingers, having been completed too long ago for any traces of Sarah's emotions to remain embedded within. She obviously had not arranged the sketches for display bare-handed; he was careful to keep his own fingers on unadorned paper so as not to mar the lines of her work.

He found the first active sketch approximately halfway through his journey around the room. The sketch was a hasty charcoal, lacking the attention to detail displayed by most of the others; the expression on his face was one of unyielding fury. Sarah's faint burst of dismay flowed down his fingers, followed by an equally faint but overriding concern. _Was she concerned for me,_ he wondered, _or concerned for the object of my ire?_ Uncertain, he continued his empathic investigation.

The second vital sketch was drawn in colored pencil, rendered in acute detail. His face was solemn and unsmiling; loneliness and melancholy seemed to emanate from his eyes. Regret leapt from the paper, closely followed by a plaintive longing combined with deep, abiding loneliness - a surprising match for his own. The emotions felt fresh and vigorous, as if Sarah had completed this sketch only yesterday.

The final live sketch was a pen and ink composition of him laughing, head thrown back in a distinctive pose. The paper contained only obscure traces of emotion; Jareth's eyes narrowed in concentration as he strove to grasp the slippery threads of sentiment. A touch of fondness, perhaps, laced with an interesting tang of...possessiveness?

 _Possessiveness?_ His smile was optimistic, cautiously verging on buoyant. _That's...encouraging._ Replacing his glove, his eyes wandered over the sketches again. Each expression was true to life; each sketch was perfectly accurate in their representations of his mercurial moods. _How,_ he asked himself, _does she know me this well?_ It was a question that required an answer, and he eased his way back through the narrow corridor into the gallery proper.

He stopped abruptly at the entrance to the main corridor. Pulling the fingers of his right hand through the aether, he willed a crystal into existence. With a practiced twist of his hand, he rolled the crystal, turning it back and forth across his fingers as he imbued it with purpose before dropping it at his feet. The crystal expanded, enveloping the entrance and effectively rendering the narrow corridor invisible to any other gallery patrons.

Sarah's hidden room was a private declaration, created expressly for his eyes alone. He would not countenance another to enter it.

Jareth strode purposely down the corridor. Turning the sharp corner, he found himself in a recreation of the stone maze. The smooth walls were formed of stone blocks in varying sizes. He could see that some of them were topped with spheres and spires. Directly in front of him stood an obelisk; stone fingers jutted from stone hands on each of its four faces, pointing in different directions. The title card, dangling from one of the pointing fingers, named the sculpture _Guide Post,_ on loan from the Museum of Pop Culture. One of the other fingers pointed to a painting hung just to the right of the entrance. _I'm Coming_ \- his distant castle rose above the glittering walls of the stone maze, sold.

Jareth had almost forgotten that the gallery was open to other visitors when a couple walked through the aperture behind the obelisk. He had begun to feel - after the discovery of the hidden room - as if Sarah had created this installation for **him**. The man's perfectly serviceable Armani tuxedo - black with emerald green accessories - was a sharp contrast to Jareth's mazarine blue made-to-measure Kiton. The woman was wearing an emerald green dress with a sweetheart neckline, wrist-length lace sleeves, and a full skirt with a mid-calf hemline.

"Damn," the man said, running his fingers through his spiky black hair. "We're lost again. This is where we started!"

"I told you we should have turned right at that second intersection," the woman retorted, her face full of teasing mischief. She flicked her medium length ash blonde hair over her shoulder and smiled at her date. "Shall we backtrack, or start over?"

"Backtrack," the man responded, and Jareth smirked at their retreating forms. He walked confidently into the stone maze, certain that his Labyrinth-honed directional sense would prevail.

Sarah had crafted the stone maze in such a way that a visitor had to take the wrong turnings in order to view all of the artwork. Jareth wandered the paths without concern, perusing each of the pieces she had created. _A Goblin Babe_ \- a wailing Tobias, clutching a hunk of bread and surrounded by goblins in the center of his throne room, not for sale. _They Are Mine!_ \- two goblins arguing over a string of red hot sausages, on loan from the Frazetta Art Museum. _A Champion_ _Headache_ \- himself, seated sideways with one leg propped up on the circular back of his throne, a black-gloved hand over his face, not for sale.

The amusement that flashed across his features upon finding yet another portrait of himself not for sale was quickly followed by consternation. He had, in truth, had a headache of monumental proportions in that moment; the stress of his beloved Sarah being the Runner, his discontent at the role he must now play for her, the ceaseless wailing of the Wished-Away child, the cackling and bickering of the goblin horde, and the squawking of the numerous chickens the horde had brought with them into his throne room had all contributed to the pounding behind his temples. Sarah could not have known this, nor have seen the tug of war over the sausages; she had not entered his throne room until after the Battle of the Goblin City. The knowledge and perspective displayed by her art was a conundrum.

 _Slime And Snails_ \- a two panel painting of two goblins, for sale. The first goblin had a round face, wide round eyes and was wearing a multi-horned helmet, mouth open in song. The second panel contained a female goblin with protruding lips, prominent cheekbones, and beady red eyes, also singing.

 _Puppy Dogs' Tails_ \- another two panel painting of two warbling goblins, for sale. The first goblin was wearing a double-horned helmet, and bore a reddish face with a long, pointed nose. The second panel contained an elderly female goblin with yellow eyes, grey eyebrows and a weathered face.

 _Thunder Or Lightning_ \- a third two panel painting of two goblins, sold. The first panel depicted a goblin holding a black chicken in his lap while he sang. His coarse black hair, beaky mouth, spiky red helmet and three-fingered hands highlighted his resemblance to his treasured pet. The second crooning goblin had a prominent nose and a fringe of black hair that resembled a Russian Cossack hat topped by two large, red-tinted horns.

Another lost couple passed behind him as he was scrutinizing _Thunder Or Lightning_. They were quietly arguing over their course of action. One of the women wanted to return to the entrance of the stone maze and begin anew; the other woman wanted to turn right at the next intersection. Jareth chuckled softly in amusement; he had already deduced that every correct path forward sloped upwards, while all the incorrect paths included a downward slope. Moving farther into the maze, he discovered that turning right at the next intersection was truly the correct option.

 _Your Mama Is A Fraggin' Aardvark -_ a small painting of a tiny creature flipping over one of the stone tiles of the Labyrinth floor, for sale. Sarah had painted the stone tile in an almost vertical position; the viewer could clearly see the red arrow drawn on one side of the tile. _9 Hours And 23 Minutes_ \- a precise replica of the Challenge Clock that hung in his throne room, its sword blade hands frozen at thirty-seven minutes past the third hour, on loan from the private collection of M. Frost-Merkley, who possibly cherished an obsession with clocks.

 _Dance Magic Dance_ \- a portrait of himself dancing with a happy, laughing Tobias cradled in his arms, surrounded by the cheerful, gamboling horde, not for sale. _Jump Magic Jump_ \- a painting of his upturned, grinning face, arms raised and ready to catch a tumbling, squealing Tobias, not for sale. The perspective of _Jump Magic Jump_ was from behind his shoulder, looking up at the ecstatic toddler.

Jareth's smile as he contemplated these two paintings - hung side by side - was equally ecstatic. He was not portrayed as a villain in them; he was beautiful, magical, whimsical. **This** was what he'd so desperately wanted to show Sarah all those many years ago. He had known even then - if she would just see what he **wanted** her to see, and not only what she expected to see - that she would requite his devotion.

" _She loves me,"_ he thought, confident and **sure**. " _And she's built an entire mini-Labyrinth just to tell me so."_ He would finish her Labyrinth, and she'd be waiting for him at the end. They would finally be together. "Piece of cake," he said aloud, chuckling at his own joke. Jareth climbed the ramp to view the next piece, unconsciously humming the song he'd spontaneously created on that day ten years ago.

 _It's Not Fair!_ \- a portrait of a squatting Sarah, examining a red arrow on the ground, an open tube of red lipstick clenched in her fist, not for sale. Jareth turned the corner, and was confronted by two sculptures standing in front of two intricately carved doors.

 _It's In The Rules_ \- a life sized sculpture of two of the Four Guards, their two heads, four hands and four feet protruding from a shield covered with runes and red heraldic symbols, for sale (set of two). _The Rules Are Lies_ \- a matching sculpture of the opposite pair of the Four Guards, with the shield's heraldic symbols in blue instead of red, for sale (set of two).

"Indeed," Jareth observed, a sly grin spreading across his face. If, in fact, one of the guards always told the truth and the other guard always lied, then one of the parameters of the riddle given to Sarah by the guards was a lie, since each of them had explained a different facet of the challenge to her. In reality, both doors led to the castle, and both doors led to certain death; the outcome depended entirely on what you said and did after crossing the threshold.

Jareth stepped past the Four Guards to examine the two doors. Although they might appear to be twins from a distance or when the guards were obscuring the view, these particular doors in the Labyrinth displayed different designs - designs that Sarah had captured in impeccable detail. Jareth opened the left hand door, muttering "Never go that way!" under his breath. He found - to his disappointment - that both doors led into the same hallway.

Entering the hallway, he encountered the purpose of the myriad ramps and upward slopes littering the stone maze. He stared down into the circular black pit that opened at his feet. There were no visible steps, no ladders. Looking across the pit, he saw a portrait of Sarah hanging on the dead-end wall. She was just beginning to fall into the trap that had opened up under her own feet. _Piece of Cake_ , he read, not for sale. Sarah had chosen to uplight this specific painting; all of the other pieces in the gallery had utilized typical downlighting. As she had intended, the light did not illuminate the interior of the pit.

Looking around the room, he discovered what appeared to be the doors to a small elevator in the right-hand wall. Suppressing a slight shudder of distaste - the Aboveground was full of horrid iron contraptions he was frequently required to enter - Jareth crossed the small space to examine them. The space that should contain an elevator call button bore no such thing; instead, a card reader held pride of place on the wall. The mechanism was virtually identical to the one Jareth used to access the elevator of the exclusive penthouse dwelling he maintained for this particular human identity. He thought briefly about manifesting the necessary card through magic, but promptly discarded the idea. Jareth was certain he was not given a card for a reason; the elevator was not the path Sarah wanted him to take forward.

Jareth retraced his steps to stand in front of the pit. He paced three steps right, then three steps left. Three steps right, three steps left. _What does Sarah want me to do now?_ he wondered. Jareth examined the entrance doors and the surrounding walls for hidden clues, buttons to press, a rope, anything. Kneeling in front of the pit, he reached into the gaping maw and chuckled at what his grasping hand found within.


	5. Chapter 5

**Updated Author's Note:**

I'm sorry for the unanticipated, extra long delay; life interfered with writing! I have not abandoned this story - I've been working on it in bits and pieces as I've had the time. The good news is that I am trying to get back onto my writing schedule, so hopefully updates will be both plentiful and timely in the near future.

 **Original Author's Note:**

After I had posted Chapter 2, my sister (an installation artist) pointed out that Sarah's Labyrinth installation was not wheelchair accessible. After a long discussion about accessibility issues within the art community, I decided to change certain aspects of the gallery showing in order to make it more accessible. Unfortunately, the decisions that I had made regarding the oubliette were just not working for the story at all. After more thought and discussion (and several rewrites), I think I've found a solution that preserves the integrity of Sarah's artistic vision. I've rewritten the end of chapter 4 (along with minor edits to the stone maze) to accommodate the new setup, so please read the new ending before continuing if you haven't read the story recently. I apologize for the inconvenience and the delay. Thank you for your patience.

 **GK~GK~GK~GK~GK**

A slide. Sarah had installed a **slide** in an art gallery.

Jareth didn't even attempt to suppress the laughter that escaped him when he pictured the denizens of the Art Establishment - decked out in fancy dress for a gallery opening - skidding down a slide. The slide was a perfect piece of mischief, spiked with a touch of cruelty. The gallery patrons would emerge into the next space disheveled and discomfited, stripped of their veneer of superiority. _How appropriate,_ he mentally sneered.

Jareth sat on the edge of the pit, preparing himself for the journey into Sarah's oubliette. He situated his legs and feet on the slide, thankful that it was made of heavy plastic rather than the typical iron-laced metal. He took a deep breath and pushed off with his hands, slowly descending into darkness. The slide Sarah had chosen was an enclosed tube slide, rather than an open scoop slide, so Jareth was forced onto his back as he slid down. The slide spiraled three times before depositing him in Sarah's darkened oubliette.

As he stood up from the slide, Jareth ran his hands over his statically-charged, disheveled hair and his rumpled clothes, magically setting his appearance to rights before perusing his new surroundings. A small, impish smile touched his lips as he imagined the dismay of the human gallery patrons who would have no way to mend their appearance before continuing into the oubliette. _Is that a deliberate choice on Sarah's part?_ he wondered. _The oubliettes are a challenge to a Runner's sense of self-importance and aggrandizement._ Furthermore, the disheveled appearance of the patrons would make them uncomfortable as they traversed the space, and he had certainly not created the various oubliettes strategically placed throughout the Labyrinth to inspire comfort! _  
_

He was facing the horrid iron-clad elevator he had noted in the room above. To his left, he confronted a wall - snugged up against the end of the slide so that patrons would be forced to move right - liberally studded with bluish-greyish-brown Helping Hands sculptures which stretched upwards to the ceiling. Five Hands formed a Hand-Face almost level with his view. _What Do You Mean, Help?,_ the tag read, not for sale. Sarah had managed to capture the Hand-Face's affronted incredulity perfectly. _So the slide does not lead to the oubliette proper, only to the entrance,_ he thought. _I suppose she could not simply drop them down a hole._ Although the Hands appeared to be identical, each was posed in such a way as to show a distinctive personality. Here, a tired hand drooped from the wall; there, a bored hand was caught in the act of drumming its fingers. He peered into the darkened corner between the piece and the elevator and discovered that the corners were rounded rather than squared. Jareth touched a nearby single Hand sculpture - a splayed Hand tense with excitement - and discovered that the sculptures were made of some sort of rubbery, pose-able material he'd never before encountered.

Pivoting to face the remainder of the space, he found the entire room was covered in sculptures of Helping Hands, dotted with Hand-Faces which appeared greenish-brown in the downlighting. The lights illuminating the Hand-Faces were the only ones in the room. The sheer amount of work that Sarah must have done to create this room was staggering. The path appeared to spiral around the slide, and Jareth strolled forward, stopping periodically to peer at the Hand-Faces and read their tags. _We're Helping Hands_ , not for sale, eight Hands. The Hand-Face was broad, giving the impression of wide-eyed sincerity. Six Hands, _Would You Like Us To L_ _et Go?,_ not for sale. The features of this Hand-Face were alight with cruel malice and mocking laughter. _Which Way?_ \- a Hand-Face full of dour impatience - five Hands, not for sale. Four questioning Hands, _Up Or Down?_ , not for sale. _Come On, Come On!_ , three Hands, not for sale. This Hand-Face resembled an agitated bird, with two Hands forming a mouth like a curved beak. _We_ _Haven't Got All Day -_ a grumbling, restless Hand-Face comprised of seven Hands - not for sale.

Five Hands, conciliatory and sympathetic, formed the Hand-Face titled _It's A_ _Big Decision For Her_ , not for sale. _Which Way Do You Want To Go?,_ six Hands, not for sale. This Hand-Face had bushy eyebrows, beady eyes, and a bristling mustache. Jareth was taken aback by its startling resemblance to Sir Didymus, and vowed to visit the Hand-Face in question, personally, just to verify the similarity. The final sculpture on the wall of the room opposite the elevator was a frog-like, inquisitive Hand-Face formed by six Hands; _Yes, Which Way?,_ not for sale.

Turning the corner, Jareth encountered a diorama on a stand. Sarah had painted the exteriors and interiors of three sides of a glass box an unrelieved black. The glass box reminded Jareth of the miniature indoor fish ponds some humans placed in their Aboveground homes and businesses. A small sculpture of her fifteen-year old self knelt in the center of the box, lit by a small circle of light that emanated from the lid of the piece. She was looking up at the light source, her face confused and frightened. The piece was perfectly framed by the open doorway into the next area; the doorway loomed behind the diorama, darkness encapsulated by darkness. None of the lighting in the entrance illuminated the room beyond, which must surely be the oubliette proper. He took six steps forward and leaned down to read the tag affixed to the stand. _Was That Wrong?,_ not for sale.

The darkened aperture was abutted by two final Hand-Face sculptures. Jareth stepped to the left to examine one. _She Chose Down!_ was comprised of four malevolently gleeful Hands, flanked by two Hands pointing downwards - the left one at the level of the wide open mouth, the right one situated below the Hand-Face. Somehow, Sarah had imbued the adjacent Hands with a sense of movement; Jareth expected them at any moment to start jabbing downwards, like chickens pecking at the ground. The piece was not for sale. Jareth strode past the threshold of the door, not bothering to glance into the pitch black room beyond, and stood in front of the final Hand-Face. _Too Late Now,_ not for sale. The Hand-Face was smug and mocking. Made up of five Hands, its beady eyes and gaping grin jeered at the viewer.

Jareth retreated to view again the diorama framed by the two Hand-Faces. He gave an involuntary start of surprise as he noticed for the first time that every Helping Hand on this final wall was pointing down, emphasizing Sarah's choice. Then his attention was once again caught by the tiny Sarah in the diorama. _She is exactly as I saw her in my crystal_ , he mused. _This piece_ _is a perfect re-creation of what **I** saw. How does she know this? How **can** she know this? This is not the first time I have found a piece depicting some event or scene she was not present for and cannot know_. The further he penetrated into Sarah's Labyrinth, the more her perceptiveness began to bother him; the confusion he felt was slowly becoming tinged with anxiety. _If she can see all of this,_ he asked himself, _what else can she, **has** she, seen? _Shaking his head to dismiss this train of thought, Jareth strode past the diorama and into the darkness of Sarah's oubliette.


End file.
